Restart
by Mint Pearl Voice
Summary: Oswin switches operating systems and reboots everything. Spoilers for AotD.
1. Chapter 1

(-and then she's in black screen sleep mode, blue screen of death mode, not much here to see mode. Reboot Oswin and try again. Reboot universe-)

And then something's tugging at her. It's like when she was twelve and a wire from her retainer came loose and started poking and scraping at the inside of her mouth until her gums began to bleed. This is like wires all over her body chafing her skin raw. Her arm's yanked through a tangle that makes something slash across the back of her neck.

Oswin used to go on programming binges during school holidays. She'd sprawl on her bed, open her laptop, and code. Fourty hours later, when her battery had died on her, she'd lift her head and realized how much her neck ached, try to stand and realize that her stomach was so empty that it made her head spin.

This feels like that. Coming back to her body, slowly, painfully- oh so very painfully.

She opens her eyes- tries to, really. Everything is much too bright and much too colorful, as if someone's adjusted the pixel settings of the universe. There's a reason she keeps her monitor on default, blast it.

And her body doesn't feel right without the wires, like someone's removed her skin. So she screams- or tries to, really, because it just comes out as a guttural, low squeak, almost gargly. Now she knows how her USB key feels when she yanks it from the port without any prior preparation.

Why does everything hurt so much? She'd really like to protest this unfair treatment. And the jolting- ugh, the jolting. _Give me my shell back._

This time, she manages a tiny squeak.

"I know, Oswin. Hurts, doesn't it- but we're almost there, and you'll be all right, I promise."

A tiny LED of recognition sparks within her battered synapses. Has she heard that voice before? Either way, it's a nice voice, saying nice, reassuring things.

No one's been nice to her for a very long time. She'd cry if she remembered how.

"Nearly there, Oswin, just a little bit longer… stay with me, that's it."

Light. Blue like her laptop screen, a soft glow all around her. Clever hands are putting her shell back, cradling her in smooth wires and cables, ones that are soft as blankets against her skin. When she exhales she can see ones and zeros on the inside of her eyelids. The light washes over her and melds with her essence, defragmenting her, debugging her, teaching her how to breathe. Memories so wonderful they almost hurt bubble to the surface- the first hard drive she ever rescued from a junkyard, the first subroutine she wrote in BASIC, the first VR hologram she'd programmed entirely from scratch.

She loses herself in light and bubbles and soft blankets of memories. All-night hackathons, laughing into her headset; birthdays, anniversaries, Nina.

Oswin sleeps.

She doesn't have nightmares.

Someone's there when she wakes up, someone with two legs and two arms and a skinny torso and- blimey, the chin on that head! That's a statistical deviation from the norm if she ever saw one.

Oswin starts laughing. For a moment, the sound surprises and confuses her, and then _I'm laughing,_ she realizes, and it feels so good and so natural that she laughs some more.

"You're laughing, I think. Well, that's good. Do you want to try cooking something next? The TARDIS kitchen has excellent ventilation. That doesn't really matter, though. How're you feeling, Oswin Oswald?"

"Better than I've felt in a long time, I think." I have a voice. I'm hearing it with actual ears.

Perhaps I even have fingernails. I could even paint them.

Chin Boy bobs around, gesticulating. "Do you want to try to sit up? IT's all right if the answer is 'no,' of course- the TARDIS had to purge nanogenes from every cell of your entire body, which was an extraordinarily complicated process. Not sure what she saw in your head, but I think she likes you- perhaps even more than she likes me, in fact."

"Well, I've never been one to turn down a challenge. And what's a TARDIS?" Oswin looks around: blue light, wires, mechanisms that even she doesn't recognize. Excitement nudges at her, whispering "try me! See what I might feel like!"

"A TARDIS is my spaceship. We're under the console right now."

Despite her bravado, Oswin still doesn't sit up, although she turns her head a little to get a better view of Chin Boy. "Is she short-range or long range? Transport? What about a hyperdrive- what model does she have?"

Chin Boy chuckles. "Oh, Oswin, Oswin, clever Oswald Oswin. A TARDIS uses the Time Vortex, and she can fit as many passengers as one likes."

"But that's impossible," she protests. "Time Vortex travel- it's still only theoretical, I was working on it at the university, we haven't-"

"You're alive. Shouldn't that be impossible?"

"Touche, Mr. Cleverpants." The bubble of happiness that pops within her gives her enough strength to swing her legs over the side, which gives her enough strength to grip the edge of the bed and get to a proper sitting position.

"Once you've traveled with me, I think you'll learn that nothing is impossible- and I sincerely hope you'll travel with me, Oswin, because you are brilliant. Anyway- the whole universe, plenty of planets without any Daleks, more restaurants and computers than you can shake a high-tech stick at… where would you like to start?"

The excitement and mischief in his entire demeanor is catching. Good catching, though.

Oswin realizes that she's smiling back. I want to do something human, she thinks, flexing her fingers experimentally and rolling her shoulders. The old crick in her neck is still there, the remenant of too much typing and not enough ergonomics- still, if all of time and space is really at her disposal (and she's not going to think about that, not until she's gotten used to being actually human) there's no reason she should have to put up with a sore neck.

"Can we go somewhere where there are Companions?"

He looks puzzled. Not everyone watches your Old Earth television shows, Oswin, she reminds herself, only people who spend too much time on computers.

"Courtesans, I mean. Really lovely ones. I just want to find a girl with long red hair and brilliantly green eyes and have her rub my neck until it stops hurting- no offense, Chinmeister, you've been lovely, but I'd like to do something really very human."

Oswin steels herself for the WTF-looks, the "you're too pretty to be a lesbian" comments; to the Doctor's credit, his expression doesn't even waver.

She likes that.

He takes her hand and leads her out into the golden light of the console room, and she follows him before coming to the realization that she's really, truly walking with her very own legs.

"All right! One luxury resort planet with pretty redheaded girls well-experienced in the care and handling of computer geniuses, coming right up!"

The Doctor's eyes are sparkling; Oswin knows without even checking a mirror that hers are, too. She's properly alive and properly human, and the future includes probably redheads and definitely adventures.

Ding. She hums a soft chime under her breath, a computer-starting-up noise. For-The-Win Oswin is back online.


	2. Chapter 2

So Oswin and the Doctor go to a resort planet, and a pointy-eared almost-human woman kneads Oswin's shoulders until her muscles feel as smooth as liquid silver. Her curls are burgundy instead of fire-red, eyes a deep emerald instead of pale forest, but she resembles Nina.

Oswin met Nina on her first day of secondary school. She was standing alone by the rusty gate, wearing a dark green velvety dress and a matching bow in her bright red curls.

Oswin, who didn't have any friends to talk to either, ran up to her. "Hello! My name's Oswin and I've just moved here. I absolutely hate it here because you can't see the sky, not even a sliver. You have to stand on the roof- and even then, you can't see the stars at night. What's your name?"

"Nina," Nina said slowly. Everything she did had an unhurried grace to it, as if she was too dignified to rush. When she blinked, Oswin noticed how long her eyelashes were. "I'm in all advanced classes, so no one in my homescraper will play with me. They think I'm stuck up." She turned away, folding her arms forlornly. Oswin grabbed her elbow. "I'm in all advanced classes too! I'll play with you, and I'll introduce you to everyone in my homescraper, absolutely everyone. It's really easy to make friends- you just have to talk to people."

"Thank you," Nina said, and then she smiled. Nina's smiles were rare and gradual and the most beautiful thing in all of London.

Nina, Oswin found out in the school's overcrowded, shabby computer lab, liked computers better than people. Although she talked slowly, she typed at over 115 words per minute. "What's that?"

"This is a hologram imaging program."

"What's that?"

In response, Nina tossed Oswin a book: Computer Programming for beginners.

Oswin would have loved computers even if she didn't love Nina. After a month- Oswin copied a wealthy classmate's ID card so she could use the school library- the two girls were equally skilled.

After two months, Oswin could hack several of Nina's files without even asking for hints.

_I'm going to marry that girl,_ Oswin thought one summer day when they were sitting on the roof together- the smog was relatively bearable. _Because I can't imagine wanting to spend this much time with anyone else. _

Nina helped Oswin learn to be calmer, to talk slowly enough to be understood, to sit still for more than five consecutive minutes; Oswin drew Nina out of her shell, taught her how to talk to people and finish sentences.

"We were perfect together. Absolutely perfect." A wistful smile trails over Oswin's expression. "We went to all-night hackathons and secret CompNet cafes and Pride parades. She even proposed to me a month before I shipped out with Alaska- if we still liked each other when I got home, we were going to get married."

It wasn't that it was only ever Nina, just that no one else ever really compared to her.

There'd been others- Rory, who she'd stared at across the schoolroom for half a month. Little Emily from the chess team, who had tumbleweed-blonde hair and the cleverest tongue in all of England. The well-endowed brunette she'd met at summer school, who wore rebelliously dark eyeliner behind thick-framed glasses.

None of them had been Nina, though. Nina wasn't just a lover-

"She was my friend, too. My best friend." _And I love her so much that it hurts. Love can hurt even more than hate does. _

Burgundy Curls, whose name is Elisaren, turns out to be Someone Important. Because then the classical music playing on the loudspeakers cuts out, and a stern, matronly voice replaces it: "LADY ELISAREN, WE HAVE THE BUILDING SURROUNDED. YOUR MOTHER AND FATHER ARE EXTREMELY CROSS WITH YOU. PLEASE REPORT TO THE MAIN LOBBY AS SOON AS POSSIBLE."

Elisa starts crying. I'm determined and excited simultaneously, Oswin decides. Those are very good feelings.

She cinches her robe. "Come on. We're going to find out what's happening."

"And then?" Elisa's voice quavers.

"And then," Oswin replies, striding determinedly down the hallway, "we will fix it."


	3. Chapter 3

Turns out that Elisaren is from a society where females are currency. Females. Not even women, they don't even call them women, just females. Oswin absolutely hates-

Pain shoots through her head like neon-blue laser lightning. Oswin tries to steady herself with a hand on the wall, but then the hallway lurches as if the entire building is rolling forward. She drops to her knees and vomits- bolts, shards of metal, wire-scraps. They scratch her throat on the way up.

Oswin stares at the debris in her cupped hands.

_I didn't eat that. I'm human. I'm human, I'm Oswin, I'm __**human-**_

Elisaren, who's gotten a bit ahead of her, stops and turns back. "Are you all right, Miss Oswin?"

No, Oswin wants to say, because what the bloody hell is going on here? The Doctor promised-

Instead, though, she wipes her hands on her robe, letting the bits of metal fall to the carpet, and stands up, breathing deeply. "Fine, yeah. Right, I think the Doctor's somewhere this way-"

"The man I'm supposed to marry is creepy," Elisaren, on the verge of tears, explains as they swerve and weave through passerby. "And he hit me once when I wasn't sure what to order at a restaurant, but- besides that, he's just creepy. You know how some men will just shout rude things at you when you're walking down the street?"

"Ugh, yes. I simply despise-" Oswin's stomach aches and twists, as if declaring its intention to eject everything she's actually eaten, and she nearly doubles over; Elisaren holds her up until the spasm passes.

They find the Doctor in a bright purple mud bath.

"Doctor, it's important, she needs our help-"

The Doctor's eyes snap open. He jumps out of the bath, realizes he's naked, and scrambles madly for something, anything, to cover himself with-

Oswin tosses him a towel. A few seconds later, she tosses him his clothes.

"Can I open my eyes now?" Elisaren asks.

"Yes," says Oswin, who's been watching the Doctor the entire time. She's perfectly capable of appreciating naked men, albeit in a purely aesthetic sense.

"Oswin, what's the matter?" asks the Doctor.

As if in response, the message blasts through the speakers again: "LADY ELISAREN, WE HAVE THE BUILDING SURROUNDED. YOUR MOTHER AND FATHER ARE EXTREMELY CROSS WITH YOU. PLEASE REPORT TO THE MAIN LOBBY AS SOON AS POSSIBLE."

Elisa's lower lip wobbles.

"Any ideas?" asks Oswin. "Her parents are forcing her to marry someone creepy."

The Doctor twirls around. "Of course I have an idea!"

"And that idea is…"

He grabs their hands. "Run!"

Down the hallway; left, right, another left, and that brings them to a balcony overlooking the majestic lobby. Even from high up, Oswin notices how everything seems decorated in gold and amethysts.

"Oh, no," Elisa sobs. A large cluster of very pale people with red, curly hair are stomping around the lobby. "I don't want to go back!"

Her wails are so loud that the people in the lobby look up.

"There they are!" a short woman shouts. "After them!"

Oswin yanks on the Doctor's arm. "More running!"

Elisa tries not to hyperventilate.

"More running," the Doctor agrees, and they wheel around.

Oswin points with her free hand. "Stairs?"

"Stairs."

"They're going to take me back, I just know it."

They run through a door marked Emergency Exit. Behold: one of those emergency exit staircases! The Doctor sonics the door shut; as they reach the first landing, though, Elisa's people start trying to break the door down.

"Elisa," the Doctor says, breathing only a bit more heavily than normal, "tell me about your family."

"It's very cold where we live." Elisa stumbles up the steps, her legs unsteady. "I have a pet- well, you'd call him a bear, his name is Antone. We worship our ancestors- my family's deity is my many-greats grandmother, Leora-"

"Oh," Oswin says under her breath. And then: "Doctor. Can you get me to a computer?"

The door crashes to the ground, and the trio shares a split-second _oh crap_ look as their pursuers burst into the stairwell.

"Downstairs," the Doctor says tersely. "First floor, first right, third left. Offices. Elisa and I will head up- try to hold them off. The guns are only tranquilizers, but they don't affect you. If you get hit, sit down and put your head between your legs, or something like that."

A short, sharp nod. "Got it."

They take off in opposite directions: the Doctor shepherding Elisa up the stairs, Oswin dashing straight towards their pursuers. The aliens look slightly confused, like "Who's this little pinkish human who thinks we're playing a game of Red Rover?" When she's about to run into them, she points behind them and screams, pretending to be frightened; when they whirl around, she shoves through a gap in the group and keeps running. That's confused them a bit; hopefully, the Doctor and Elisa will give her enough time to put her part of the plan into action.


	4. Chapter 4

Like hotels on Earth, the Serammona Resort and Spa has an area where traveling businesspeople could access computers for free. Oswin opens a frosted-glass door and peers into a large room. _Ugh, they still have cubicles a hundred years in the future…_

Perhaps the Doctor enjoys running from aliens- but what Oswin loves, really loves, are computers.

She loves the little chimes they make when they're starting up. She loves the feel of a keyboard under her fingertips. She even loves cat videos.

More than any of that, though, Oswin loves hacking and programming.

The computer turns on, faster than she'd expected. It has the familiar Windows backround- but none of the icons look the same. They're all blobby.

For a moment, Oswin considers ragequitting, but then she remembers the TARDIS's buzz at the back of her mind. If she closes her eyes and blocks out all other thoughts, she can even hear one of its code-layers:

href-http& translate img alt src "words" [companion= Oswin] &/translate

Below that run lines of a programming language Oswin isn't even vaguely familiar with- some sort of pictorial code, all golden circles and interlocked, gently shifting spirals. She gets the feeling that the TARDIS is translating its messages for her benefit.

How do you program a TARDIS? Is it locked against outside interference? Still, it's worth a try.

Oswin holds her hands out in front of her, visualizes a keyboard under her fingertips, and types in the air:

href-http& translate img alt src "words" img alt src "pictures-pictograms" [companion= Oswin] &/translate

There's a faint humming sound, and when she opens her eyes, the icons on the screen are recognizable.

Okay. That's the code-writing software she uses- a different version, but she's always been a fast learner. Hacking into radio networks and intercoms? Kid stuff. For a laugh, she and Nina used to take the subterranean down to the shopscrapers and mess with the fly-through speaker system at fast food restaurants- changing people's orders, that sort of thing.

What Oswin's doing now is rather similar, just on a much larger scale. Elisa's people use 'snowglyph' instead of 'img src,' so that trips her up a bit, at least until she gets a good look at the walkie-talkies' source code, and their language uses characters that aren't on most human keyboards, so she keeps having to go to the Symbols menu to insert various 'vertical box drawings.' But that?

That's nothing.

There's a keyboard under her hands and a screen in front of her face, and Oswin is _flying._


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm scared," Elisa murmurs. "I'm really, really scared."

The Doctor had led her to a small room used for spa treatments, then improvised a barricade from a massage table and a pedicure chair. Now, as said barricade shook under repeated assaults from Elisa's kinsgroup, the pale-skinned noblewoman curled up into a ball in the corner.

She lifts her head a fraction. "Are you scared, Doctor?"

His reflex is to seem nonchalant, because that's what worked with Amy. "Scared? Me? Naah. We'll be fine."

Instead, though, Elisa just looks even more wan and miserable. "My father always says I'm too emotional."

"Too emotional? There's no such thing, not really. As long as your emotions don't lead you to harm anyone else- or yourself, for that matter- emotions are good. Emotions make you human. No, wait, you're not human, sorry- what are you?"

A hint of a smile plays over her lips. "I'm Ingriulane, Doctor."

"Okay. Emotions make you Ingriulane. And you know what? You have a lot of advantages."

"Advantages? Me!"

He schooches closer to her. "Yes, Elisa. You know what you like and what you don't. You know what makes you uncomfortable, and you know what you're feeling when you're feeling it. Those are huge, huge advantages, because they make it harder for people to pick on you. And this universe is full of opportunities for a girl who refuses to let herself be picked on."

This time, Elisa's smile is as dazzlingly bright as a double sunrise over fields of shimmering lavender ice.

On the next shove, the barricade breaks, and Elisa's smile vanishes. "They're going to get me- no, I won't let you take me back," she yells as other Ingriulane stream into the small room. "I'll kill myself first, I-"

"INGRIULANE OF MY GENETIC LINE." The voice seems to come from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. "THIS IS LEORA SPEAKING FROM THE LANDS OF MANAGABLE SNOWFALL."

Instantly, all the Ingriulane- including Elisaren- bow their heads. "All praise."

"ELISAREN MUST NOT MARRY HER FIANCEE. GREAT MISFORTUNE AND MISERY WILL BEFALL HER, FOR HE IS ACTUALLY REALLY CREEPY AND THE ANCESTORS ARE DISPLEASED WITH THEM. ALL RIGHT, I'M DONE NOW. ALL PRAISE."

"All praise!"

A whooshing sound. Then silence.

One Ingriulane- a tall man with long hair the same color as Elisa's- steps forward. "Elisaren, my eldest daughter-" His voice cracks with emotion. "I apologize. I thought your marriage was Leora's will, but it seems that I was just over-hasty."

"I forgive you," Elisa says in a whisper. And then, louder and more confidently: "At least, I might forgive you. I'll have to see how I feel about it first."

She smiles at the Doctor, and the Doctor smiles back.

So the Ingriulanes leave- without Elisa, although her father promises to write to her every Suncross. Before heading back to work (she's one of the best massage therapists on the entire Satellite) she gives the Doctor an enormous hug. "Thank you for helping Leora speak to me."

"Erm, actually, that was my friend Oswin," the Doctor says, feeling that he needs to explain the situation.

"I know that." Elisa's smile is untroubled. "But that's how the ancestors work. They get someone else to tell you what you need to hear."

The Doctor watches her walk away. Then he goes and finds Oswin.

She's playing with the computer, exploring the different applications.

"That was clever. Given the right circumstances, I could have worked out something much more sophisticated- but for the purposes of congratulating you on a job well done, I couldn't have done better myself."

"Oh, it was nothing, really," Oswin replies with a large dollop of false modesty. "All I did was hack into the transmit frequencies of all the walkie-talkies and loudspeakers in the building, then conceal the signal to make it entirely untraceable."

The Doctor nods appreciatively.

Oswin swivels around in her chair. "By the way, Doctor, this is the part where you tell me how utterly brilliant I am."

When they get back to the TARDIS, Oswin confronts the Doctor.

"I threw up earlier."

He starts to say something, but she silences him with a gesture. "Not a normal upchuck. Bits of metal in Dalek shades."

She watches his face for any split-second flickers of fear. Instead, though, he just shrugs, seeming casual. "That's to be expected- the good nanos are still chasing out the bad nanos. It's like how your immune system works normally, except more so." He pats her on the head. "Drink some chamomile tea, take a nice long nap, and you'll be perfectly fine."

Oswin smiles, relieved. "Thank you, Doctor. Which way is the kitchen?"

"First right, second left. Or perhaps the other way around… well, if you run into a candy-making factory, you'll know that the correct route was the other one. No cooking soufflés, though- the TARDIS hates it when I burn things."

"No soufflés. Got it!" Humming, Oswin practically skips up the staircase and into the TARDIS interior.

As soon as the Doctor knows that Oswin can't see him anymore, his smile vanishes. "This is bad," he murmurs. "This is really, really terrible." The Doctor leans on the console, worries, and tries not to cry.


	6. Chapter 6

London, 2150.

It's raining outside, and the sky is the color of a blank word document. A young woman with curly, dark red hair sits on her blue-and-white-striped bedspread, watching raindrops roll down the window.

"Nina!" her mother yells from the kitchen-slash-dining-room-slash-parlor. "If you don't leave now, you'll be late for therapy!"

Nina doesn't look away from the window. "I'm not going."

"You won't get better if you don't work at it."

This time, Nina whirls around. "I'm not interested in getting better!" she shouts in the direction of her doorway. "And I'm not depressed," she adds, her tone softer. She looks back at the window. "I'm sad."

"Sweetie, that's the same thing."

"Not really." Nina rests her head against the window. The glass feels cold under her cheek. "In my experience, sadness is more likely to be caused by a specific event." She brings up a hand and splays her fingers over the icy surface. "I know exactly why I'm sad."

On weekends, the Park is a riot of bright colors and joyful sound. Children ride friendly robot animals on a carousel or climb on "smart plastic" playground equipment that alters its shape in response to their whispered commands. On occasion, the air smells like popcorn or cinnamon rolls. And, of course, it's not the Park without someone selling toys: disposable holo-goggles that superimpose cartoon characters or mythical creatures over the landscape, toy swords that glow as if enchanted and make sound effects when they hit something, singing balloons imbued with lighter-than-air nanos that display popular music videos.

This afternoon, though, there's a new toy salesman in the Park. Unlike the other salespeople- most of whom are teenagers working an after-school job- this one really looks the part. He wears a lime green and magenta-striped suit.

"Step right up, children, and examine the marvelous Minipeople! Only twenty-five pounds each!"

Nine-year-old Poppy can't stop goggling at the inch-tall inhabitants of the clear glass box. Why, they look just like people, only smaller! The way they simulate conversation or beat their little fists against the walls make her think of books where dolls came to life when no one's looking.

The toy salesman leans down and smiles at her. "You're very interested, aren't you? You must be a very bright girl. I can tell."

She nods shyly. "I won the school spelling bee last October." What Poppy really wants is a closer look at the dolls, but she's too polite to ask.

"If you come into the back of my tent, I'll show you how I make the dolls. Would you like that?"

Poppy beams. "Oh, I would love that more than anything!"

As the toy salesman escorts her into the red-and-yellow striped tent, Poppy feels the other children staring at her enviously. She's too excited to care, though. They go into the tent. Poppy expected some sort of huge, crazy-awesome Rube Goldberg machine, but there's just a machine the size of a small desk, covered with a blanket.

"This is how I make the dolls." He whips the blanket off to reveal a gizmo containing a lot of tangled wires and blinking buttons. In the center of the machine is a splendid blue sapphire the size of a child's hand.

Poppy leans over the machine. Where's the doll heads that get snapped onto doll torsos? Where's the bit of the machine that puts the hair in? The sapphire draws her gaze in-

And suddenly she's falling, tumbling, and she can't stop herself. Everything's spinning and spinning, and her skin feels too tight and her stomach hurts and help, what's happening? What's going on?

The toymaker carefully reaches down and picks an inch-tall doll up off the sapphire. With its soft dark hair and its school uniform, the girl-doll looks eerily like Poppy.

He raises the doll up to eye level and examines it clinically. "I think I'll be able to charge quite a good price for you, little missy," he murmurs. "Yes, quite a good price indeed…"

Poppy screams and screams. No one hears her.


End file.
